1 Your harps, ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud to the praise of Christ our Lord
Bid ev'ry string awake.
2 Tho' in a foreign land
We are not far from home;
And nearer to our house above,
We ev'ry moment come.
3 His grace will to the end
Stronger and brighter shine;
Nor present things, nor things to come,
Shall quench the spark divine.
4 The time of love will come
When we shall clearly see
Not only that he shed his blood
But each shall say, "For me."
5 Tarry his leisure then,
Wait the appointed hour;
Wait 'till the bridegroom of your souls,
Reveal his love with pow'r
6 Blest is the man, O God,
That stays himself on thee!
Who waits for thy salvation, Lord,
Shall thy salvation see.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Your harps, ye trembling saints |
Title: | Faith in Christ, the Saviour |
Meter: | S. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1792 |
Scripture: | ; |
Topic: | Faith, its Author, Preciousness, and Triumphs |
Source: | Rippon's Coll. |